Blinding Black Sparks

by CyborgLemon

For over a century, the great sorcerer clans have grown complacent, sipping wine in their ivory towers while the remnants of humanity struggle to reclaim the decaying surface. Content with the status quo, the clans strike down any who dare step out of line. But when a sorcerer fakes his death in a mysterious warehouse explosion, he chooses a rogue path, leaving behind the stagnant

25. Chapter 25

Notes:

I really enjoyed the cinderella old tales event, but it did mess up this chapter originally. I have several chapters pre written and story beats planned out in advance, which helps getting words to paper, but the event ment I had to completely rewrite the characters in this chapter as they were too similar to hansel and gretal. It was harder getting this chapter done alongside the other ones as I dont like rewriting stuff I have already finished writing in advance, but the characters were way too similar for me to be good with it. Good news though, I did get inspiration from the event halfway for a future arc which I am planing on and pre writing plot points for.

Chapter Text

In the closed traditions of the Jujutsu Society, the arrival of twins was rarely cause for celebration. Born under the same stars, they were believed to bear too much of the same fate, an anomaly in a world that prized singular gifts. Twins, they said, bore the seeds of discord. Where one should rise, both would fall.

The hallway was silent, the soft shuffle of footsteps echoing as the two teenagers walked side by side. The faint overhead light caught their blond hair—a stark contrast to the black-haired Zenin clan members passing by, each glance carrying silent judgment.

Jun walked with his shoulders hunched, hands stuffed into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground as though avoiding even his sister's glance. His steps were slow, burdened by the weight of another disappointing day, another reminder of the silent verdict hanging over them.

Beside him, Mei kept her head high, her chin lifted in defiance despite the bruises from her match. Her lips pulled into a mocking smirk as though daring anyone to comment. Her voice broke the silence, forced bravado coloring her tone. "Hey, that wasn't so bad, right?" She forced a casual shrug, throwing a punch in the air with a grin. "Next time, they won't stand a chance."

Jun gave her a sidelong look, a faint smile pulling at his lips, but his gaze was still somber. "Sure," he replied softly, his tone devoid of her false cheer. "Just a bit."

Mei nudged him in the ribs, irritation flickering over her face. "Come on, at least pretend to believe me," she muttered, though her voice held more desperation than she intended.

They passed a cluster of older clan members, who didn't bother hiding their disdain. The whispered words—waste of Zenin blood, weaklings—hung in the air, a constant refrain that had settled into the twins' bones. One elder shook his head in disgust, muttering to his companion, "Such a shame. Born of a great lineage, and yet..."

Mei's shoulders tensed, and she lifted her voice slightly, forcing the bravado back into her tone. "Just wait. I'll show them—I'll be the best. I don't need anyone's approval."

Her words rang hollow, and Jun flinched, the weight of her desperation too familiar. Mei glanced at him, searching his face for reassurance, but he kept his head turned, hands clenched in his pockets.

As they approached the courtyard, they saw their parents waiting under the stone archway. Their father, Zenin Ryo, stood with arms crossed, his gaze icy as he watched them approach. Beside him, their mother, Hana, stared somewhere past them, her expression an unreadable void. Neither warmth nor pride softened her features, as though the twins were little more than an inconvenience.

Jun instinctively lowered his gaze, shoulders shrinking under his father's steely look, while Mei forced herself to keep her chin high. She gave Jun's arm a quick squeeze, her lips set in a hard line.

Their father's voice sliced through the silence, cold and sharp. "You really outdid yourself today, Jun. I expected more. Weakness like that reflects on all of us, do you understand? You make our clan look pathetic."

Jun swallowed, his eyes fixed on the ground. He managed a nod, words stuck somewhere in his throat.

Mei bristled, unable to hold back. "Oh, so now you care about appearances?" Her voice was cutting, her tone drenched in sarcasm. "Coming from the man who's been with half the women in the clan, that's rich."

Ryo's gaze snapped to her, and without a word, he raised his hand and struck her. The force of it sent her stumbling back, clutching her cheek, the sting of it silencing her. Hana watched with detached indifference, turning on her heel to follow her husband as he walked away.

Jun moved to help his sister up, but she shrugged him off, forcing herself to her feet with a strained grin. Her voice was brittle as she forced a laugh. "Guess I struck a nerve."

Jun's jaw tightened. "You didn't have to say that, Mei. You know he's looking for any excuse."

Mei shrugged, brushing dust off her clothes. "Better me than you." She straightened, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Let's go watch some real fighters. Maybe we'll learn something."

The twins found seats at the edge of the stands, watching as two fighters squared off in the arena. One was a young Kamo clan member, Riku, his movements graceful and fluid. His opponent, an outsider adopted into the Gojo clan, was a dark-haired teen introduced as Anāman. The announcer's voice echoed over the crowd as they began, describing Riku's elegant, almost theatrical style. By contrast, Anāman's movements were sharp, unadorned, and brutally effective.

Jun leaned forward, unable to hide his admiration. "He's… good," he muttered, awe coloring his tone. "There's no wasted movement. Every hit lands with purpose."

Mei scoffed, crossing her arms. "And he's an outsider. Figures he'd get respect just for that. Meanwhile, we can't catch a break."

Jun shot her a look. "You know it's usually worse for outsiders. They're treated like they don't belong… but he's different." He nodded toward Takumi Gojo, who stood near the edge of the ring, watching Anāman with something close to pride.

Mei's gaze hardened. "Look at that," she muttered bitterly. "He's treated like family while we're ignored."

Jun watched Anāman, sensing something in his movements, something beyond skill. He looked to Takumi, noting the almost familial warmth between them. "Maybe he's earned it," he suggested quietly. Mei's hands tightened on the railing. "Must be nice," she muttered. "Having someone who cares. It's unfair."

Jun didn't respond, but he couldn't shake the thought as he watched Anāman dominate Riku, driving the Kamo boy to abandon his polished style in favor of desperate defense.

As the match concluded, Jun nudged Mei, a spark of determination in his eyes. "Come on. Let's talk to him. Maybe… maybe he'll train with us."

Mei's expression shifted, reluctant. "You really think he'd bother with us?"

Jun nodded. "It's worth a shot. He might understand."

The two of them approached Anāman as he spoke quietly with Takumi, his demeanor relaxed yet focused. But as another figure neared—a severe-looking instructor from the Gojo clan, his face shadowed with disdain—a subtle shift passed over Anāman. Jun noticed it, a flicker of fear in his eyes that mirrored his own when his father was near. It was a look he'd seen in Mei too, the same unease that marked anyone who'd grown used to fear.

The instructor's gaze bore down on Anāman, lips twisted into a sneer. "Still wasting your time on this stray, Takumi? A pity to see your skills squandered like this. There are real members of the clan who deserve that time. Not some… outsider."

Takumi's expression remained calm, but a sharper edge colored his tone. "Funny, considering he was under your instruction before I took him in. And from what I've seen, he's made more progress since."

The instructor's face darkened, anger flashing in his eyes. "Is that so?" He turned to Anāman, his voice lowering to a menacing tone. "Perhaps your progress has given you ideas above your station, boy. A reminder might do you well."

For a moment, Jun saw Anāman's shoulders tense, the brief flash of fear in his gaze revealing a history of intimidation. Memories of harsh "training sessions" he'd endured at the hands of this very instructor surfaced, bringing back physical scars and emotional wounds alike. But instead of shrinking, that fear shifted into something colder, a smoldering defiance.

Anāman met the instructor's gaze, his voice steady but laced with bitterness. "Station? That's rich, coming from someone who couldn't even do his own job right."

The instructor's jaw clenched, his voice dropping lower, each word weighted with threat. "You'd better remember who you're speaking to. Insolence has its price."

Anāman's expression didn't falter. If anything, the glint in his eyes grew fiercer. "Oh, just fuck off you stupid prick." His words landed with finality, biting and unapologetic.

The instructor's face tightened, momentarily thrown by Anāman's words, before he regained his composure, anger simmering beneath the surface. Takumi, sensing the tension rising, placed a firm hand on Anāman's shoulder, offering both a steadying presence and a clear dismissal.

"Perhaps," Takumi said coolly, "you should take up your concerns with someone who shares them."

The instructor gave them a final venomous glare before turning on his heel, retreating into the crowd with an air of suppressed fury.

Jun watched in awe, admiration stirring as he took in Anāman's unyielding stance. He hadn't expected to see fear give way to defiance, nor had he anticipated seeing an outsider who held his ground so firmly. Anāman, an outsider to the society, had carved out a place not by submitting but by challenging the very expectations others had set for him.

The twins lingered in the shadows of the courtyard, waiting until they saw Takumi step away, leaving Anāman by himself. Jun shot a quick, uncertain glance at Mei, his nervousness clear as he tried to work up the courage to approach him.

Mei gave him a nudge. "Go on, Jun. You wanted to do this," she whispered, a smirk on her face, though her own hesitation was evident.

With a gulp, Jun stepped forward, his voice coming out a bit too soft. "Uh, hey, Your Anāman right?… I was, uh, wondering if… if maybe you could, you know, run a train with us?"

Anāman's face went blank for a moment, his expression unreadable as he processed what Jun had just asked. His eyes widened slightly, and he took a step back, giving the twins a look that was half shock, half horror. He had heard enough about the Zenin clan's notorious family dynamics, but this… this was a level he hadn't expected.

"Uh… sorry, what did you say?" Anāman stammered, looking from Jun to Mei as if waiting for one of them to clarify this potential nightmare.

Jun's face flushed, utterly unaware of the misunderstanding, and he stammered, "I mean… we thought maybe you could… help us get stronger?"

Seeing the confusion on both sides, Mei stepped forward, rolling her eyes. "Oh for—he means train with us. You know, sparring. Drills." She shot her brother a look. "Not whatever that sounded like."

Anāman visibly relaxed, his shoulders losing their tension as he realized his mistake. He gave a slight chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Training. Sorry, I, uh, misunderstood." He cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "So… you both want to train with me?"

Jun nodded quickly, trying to look confident again despite his embarrassment. "Yeah. I saw how you fought, and… well, you didn't seem afraid of anyone. We want to learn how to be like that."

Anāman studied them both, the hint of a smile breaking through his usual guarded expression. "Well, if you're serious about it, I'll show you a few things. But you'd better be ready to work hard. Takumi doesn't go easy on me, and neither will I."

Mei smirked, her usual bravado returning. "We can handle it."

Anāman nodded, a glint of respect in his eyes. "Alright then. Meet me here tomorrow morning, and don't be late."

In the Jujutsu Society, twins were viewed with superstition and suspicion, seen not as two separate individuals but as a single entity split into two bodies. Such a division, the elders claimed, would inevitably lead them to weigh each other down, their shared potential weakened, forever pulling each other back from true greatness. In a world that demanded singular strength, twins were believed to be an imbalance—two halves destined to remain incomplete.

Jun and Mei waited in the training yard, faces bored from waiting for the improtue trainer. Mei's scowl deepened as she spotted Anāman walking casually, his posture relaxed as if he hadn't kept them waiting. In one hand, he held a small box, which he opened as they arrived, revealing two slices of apple pie.

"Thought you might want something sweet," Anāman said, offering them each a slice with a nonchalant smile.

Mei snatched hers without a word, eyes narrowed as she took a bite. To her, the gesture felt hollow, almost mocking. This outsider, a non-clan member, a latecomer, was giving her pie like she was a kid he was trying to appease. She caught Jun giving her a look, but she ignored him, focusing on the training ahead.

Anāman's calm voice broke the silence. "So, are you two ready to show me what you've got?"

"Yeah, if you're actually ready to train," Mei shot back, a hint of irritation lacing her tone. She barely waited for his response before taking her stance, her arms tense, eyes challenging.

Jun watched her, sensing her frustration. He took his place beside her, nodding to Anāman. "We're ready. Let's go."

Anāman stood in a simple martial arts stance "Cursed technique: Ruinous Gambit!"

The training began slowly. Anāman deflected their initial attacks with a kind of effortless grace that only heightened Mei's frustration. She and Jun worked to synchronize, each one throwing basic strikes that were meant to get a feel for Anāman's movement, to lure him into their rhythm. But every time they thought they'd caught him off-guard, he slipped away, sidestepping or blocking with almost no effort.

Mei clenched her teeth, feeling like he was playing with them, toying with her in a way that only stoked her anger further. She moved faster, striking with more force, but he just blocked her fist, glancing briefly at Jun as if encouraging him to strike harder, faster.

Finally, Mei glanced at Jun, nodding slightly. It was time to activate their technique.

Jun and Mei's cursed technique, "Twin Pulse," manifests as two interdependent abilities that reach their peak only when used together. Jun's Resonant Impact channels cursed energy from the surrounding area into his strikes. Mei's Phase Disruption releases cursed energy waves that alter and amplify Jun's pulses when synchronized, creating sudden, destructive bursts. Combined, their techniques form a continuous cycle of energy that generates devastating shockwaves, with each pulse enhancing the other's force, resulting in potent, oscillating waves that can destabilize and overwhelm anything in their path.

But for the technique to work, they had to be perfectly aligned, each acting as one half of a single force.

Jun shifted into position, his gaze steady as he began absorbing Mei's pulsing energy. They moved in concert, aligning their energies to create a field that grew stronger with every second.

Anāman's gaze shifted, his expression sharpening as he sensed the shift in the air. The field pulsed, vibrating through the ground and causing loose stones to tremble.

Mei's eyes glinted with a mix of excitement and defiance as she launched a pulse toward Jun, their energies converging. Jun stepped forward, his fist now glowing with amplified cursed energy, and struck out at Anāman with a force meant to shatter anything it touched.

But Anāman was ready. He sidestepped lazily at the last second, letting the wave of energy pass by him as it struck the ground, causing a small explosion of dust and debris. He moved into the disrupted field, slipping between Mei and Jun before they could re-synchronize.

Anāman redirected one of Mei's pulses by striking the ground, disrupting the medium the waves were traveling through, deflecting it just enough to break the flow of their resonance. Mei's face twisted in frustration as the alignment faltered, and Jun's power sputtered, losing its potency.

In the next heartbeat, Anāman struck. His movements were fast, precise, first catching Mei off-balance and sweeping her feet from under her. She hit the ground with a grunt of frustration. Before Jun could react, Anāman closed the distance, blocking his next strike and twisting him around, sending him sprawling to the ground beside Mei.

They lay there, breathing heavily, their technique dismantled as easily as a strong gust of wind disperses smoke.

"Your synchronization is good," Anāman said, his tone neutral, almost instructive. "But relying entirely on it makes you predictable. What happens if you get separated? Or if someone disrupts the resonance? You'll need to think beyond just working as one."

Mei shot him a glare as she sat up, her jaw clenched. "Right. Just another way of saying we're weak." She dusted herself off, trying to ignore the sting in her pride.

Anāman tilted his head, unfazed by her attitude. "Not weak. Just inexperienced. You'll get there if you keep working at it."

Mei scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, well, thanks for the advice," she muttered, though her voice was tight with resentment. It felt like he was just another person looking down on them, hiding behind polite words and unwanted advice.

Jun, however, looked at Anāman with newfound respect, taking his words to heart. He reached out a hand to help Mei up, his gaze thoughtful. "We'll work on it," he said, giving Anāman a nod. "Thank you."

Anāman returned the nod, his gaze shifting to Mei for a moment before he turned away. As Anāman turned to walk away, Mei called out, her voice edged with frustration and a hint of curiosity. "How did you figure it out so fast?"

Anāman paused, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smile. "Because my own technique wasn't anything remarkable when I started out," he replied, his tone unusually candid. "I'd trained it to what I thought was its peak… until I realized I wasn't being nearly creative enough. It took a lot of studying—physics, chemistry, human biology—all of it, to bring it up to a level I was satisfied with." His gaze softened slightly, as if recalling his own struggles. "Along the way, I picked up enough residual knowledge to recognize some of the principles behind your technique."

Jun's eyebrows raised, a mix of admiration and confusion flickering across his face, but Mei remained unconvinced, still trying to decipher his method.

Anāman took a breath, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And smell helped."

Both twins blinked, staring at him in bewilderment.

"Smell?" Mei echoed, her voice dripping with skepticism. "How does smell tell you anything about our technique?"

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of Anāman's mouth, but he didn't elaborate. "That's for you two to figure out," he said simply. Without another word, he walked away, leaving the twins with more questions than answers.

Jun turned to Mei, scratching his head. "Smell… what could he mean by that?"

Mei's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing as she watched Anāman disappear around the corner. "I don't know," she muttered, determination flickering behind her gaze. "But I'm going to find out."

Mei's journey to master her technique began with a growing pile of old books she could barely afford. The covers were faded, and some of the pages were torn, but they held what she hoped were the keys to a deeper understanding. She had physics and chemistry textbooks stacked beside her, though the biology texts she wanted were beyond her budget. With a mix of determination and frustration, she threw herself into the material, convinced that learning the fundamentals of how things worked in the physical world might help her grasp the potential Anāman hinted at in her cursed technique.

She started with basic physics. Force, mass, energy—all these concepts floated on the page, taunting her as she struggled to connect them with what she felt during combat. Cursed energy flowed through her like a second pulse, but now she realized she had never thought about how it moved or what laws it obeyed. Anāman's words lingered in her mind, a challenge that drove her forward. She needed to understand what he had seen in her and Jun's technique that she was missing.

Late at night, when the rest of the Zenin household was quiet, Mei sat hunched over her desk, her eyes fixed on the diagrams and formulas in the physics book. She tried to map her cursed technique onto the forces she read about. When she and Jun activated their technique, it felt like a resonance—an oscillating, powerful connection between them. She struggled with concepts like wave interference, energy transfer, and momentum, finding parallels to her own abilities but unable to fully articulate them. She read about harmonic motion and imagined how it could apply to the energy she and Jun generated together.

At first, the formulas and equations swam before her eyes, nothing more than symbols on a page. But as she worked through simple problems, drawing connections to her own experiences in combat, something started to click. She began to understand how energy could travel and change, how force could build and break, even how two different energies, when synchronized, could amplify each other. She imagined her technique as a wave, riding the currents of cursed energy that she and Jun could create together. Slowly, she began to appreciate how cursed energy might interact with the rules of the world it inhabited, bending and warping physics but never fully escaping it.

But Mei wasn't naturally gifted in academic pursuits. Every paragraph, every diagram was a battle of comprehension, and often she felt like she was losing. Her brow stayed furrowed, her pencil frequently snapping under the pressure of her grip as frustration mounted. The science didn't come easily. She couldn't remember half the definitions, and the equations felt distant from the raw, instinctive power she was accustomed to wielding. She was a fighter, not a scholar, and the gap between these two worlds often seemed insurmountable.

One night, after struggling through another particularly dense chapter, she sighed and pushed the book away, staring at the notes she'd scratched out on a piece of paper. She glanced across the room where Jun was reading, half-asleep but ready to help her whenever she asked. With a groan, she called him over.

"Jun, what the hell is a 'wave function,' and why does it even matter?" she asked, rubbing her temples in frustration.

Jun joined her at the desk, looking over the mess of notes she'd scrawled. "A wave function? It's… well, it's a way of describing how something moves or acts in space, kind of like cursed energy, right? Imagine if our technique was a wave, and every time we synchronized, it amplified. It's like resonance."

Mei stared at him, the wheels turning in her mind. "Resonance… like when we line up our cursed energy perfectly, and the technique hits harder. You think that's what Anāman was talking about? That we're using this resonance effect?"

Jun nodded slowly. "Maybe. Our technique works best when we're completely in sync. It's like we're building off each other's energy, like two waves joining to make something bigger. Maybe that's why we have to use it together—it doesn't work otherwise because it relies on that perfect alignment."

Mei leaned back, a glimmer of excitement cutting through her exhaustion. "So if it really does work like that, we should be able to control it better by understanding these… wave principles. But then, what did Anāman mean by 'smell'?"

Jun shrugged, his gaze drifting back to the books on her desk. "Maybe it's just his way of saying there are things we don't usually notice. Or maybe it's something specific to our cursed energy that he picked up on. Either way, it seems like he wanted us to see beyond what we're used to."

The thought gnawed at Mei for the next few days. She returned to her books with fresh purpose, poring over concepts that went deeper than raw strength—concepts that probed into the nature of energy and resonance, of how two forces could align to create something more powerful. Still, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake her frustration at the idea of "smell." She felt like she was hitting a wall, grasping at something just beyond reach.

Finally, her patience broke. Determined to get answers, she tracked down Anāman after a training session, cornering him as he was heading out of the training grounds.

"Hey!" Mei called out, her tone edged with impatience as she approached him. "You said something about 'smell' helping you understand our technique. I've been studying, trying to get what you meant, but it doesn't make any sense."

Anāman turned, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Oh? Still stuck on that, are we?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Look, I'm serious. I've put in the work. I've read about resonance, about wave principles—I've done everything I can think of. But I still don't get what smell has to do with anything." Her voice was tight, almost pleading, though she masked it with irritation.

Anāman studied her for a moment, then sighed, feigning reluctance. "Alright, alright. You're persistent, I'll give you that," he said, chuckling. "Tell you what—I'll give you a hint. But it'll cost you."

Mei narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. "What do you want?"

"Apple pie," he replied with a mischievous grin.

She rolled her eyes, but within the hour, they found themselves seated in a small café, each with a slice of pie in front of them. Mei waited impatiently, her gaze fixed on Anāman as he savored the first bite, clearly taking his time just to annoy her. Finally, he leaned back, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

As they sat in the café, Anāman finally shared his insights, pulling the layers of their technique apart with an ease that was both infuriating and inspiring.

"Your technique," he began, "has a very distinct pattern. I figured it out partly because of the smell as it moved through the ground—it gave away the energy fluctuations and, in turn, the timing. Everywave subtly shifted the grass and earth, putting out a distinct smell that I could use my technique to pick up on. Each pulse of cursed energy you sent out was precise, identical, almost like clockwork."

Mei frowned, trying to process what he was saying. "The smell… helped you figure out our timing?"

Anāman nodded, smiling as if to encourage her to think further. "The scent told me the energy was moving in waves, like sound or light, and each pulse was exactly the same, and that it would not continue past where Jun was standing. This led me to conclude that the pulses somehow helped Jun. By observing—smelling—for the peaks, I could predict exactly when Jun's strength would surge. That regularity, that rhythm, made it easy to anticipate his attacks."

Mei's face twisted in frustration. "So, it was predictable? We were making it easy for you?"

Anāman shrugged, though there was no arrogance in his tone, only honesty. "Your synchronization is impressive, but it's a double-edged sword. If you're too consistent, anyone with enough experience can pick up on it and time their moves accordingly. Your technique has a lot of power, but it's limited if you follow the same pattern every time."

He took a bite of the apple pie she'd brought, letting his words sink in, then added, "Think of your waves like a beat. You don't want them to be too predictable. Throw in some irregular pulses, shift the timing or wavelength, surprise the opponent. That way, they're never able to track it or time it as I did."

Seeing her disappointed expression, he leaned back and gave a final piece of advice. "The smell tip I gave was a bit of a trick question," he admitted. "It wasn't just about the scent but about training you to pick up on all aspects of your technique—how it feels, looks, even sounds. You need to see it from all angles. Combat skills alone aren't enough; awareness and control over every part of your technique are what will make it truly powerful. We do not have the same level of experience, not yet, so don't be discouraged"

With that, he gave Mei a meaningful nod and walked away, leaving her to absorb the insight, now fully aware that the way forward would require more than just raw strength.

As Mei and Jun talked together later that day, Mei shared everything Anāman had told her, trying to pass along the lessons she had learned. Jun, though interested, was caught by a single phrase Anāman had said: "We do not have the same level of experience, not yet, so don't be discouraged." His words echoed in Jun's mind, lingering in a way that felt strange. Anāman was around their age—so where had this "experience" come from?

Later that night, unable to shake his curiosity, Jun made his way to the kitchen for some coffee. As Jun made his way back to his room with a steaming cup of coffee, he nearly stumbled upon his grandmother standing alone in the dim hallway, her posture as straight and silent as stone. She seemed almost lost in thought, her gaze distant and unfocused. For a moment, he hesitated, but he swallowed his nervousness and stepped closer, his voice quiet.

"Grandmother," he began, gathering his courage, "I… I wanted to ask you something."

She turned slowly, her sharp eyes landing on him with a faint glimmer of curiosity, though her expression remained unreadable.

"Speak," she replied, her voice as quiet as it was firm.

He took a deep breath, glancing down at the coffee in his hands. "I… I wanted to ask about Anāman. You know, he seems to have a lot of experience—more than me or Mei. And he's our age, so… I just wondered how that's possible."

For a few heartbeats, his grandmother remained silent, her gaze shifting to some distant point in the dim hallway. Jun was about to take her silence as an answer and excuse himself, but then she spoke, her voice softer, almost reflective.

"Do you know, Jun, that the blood of our clans has grown weak?" she began, the words measured and deliberate, carrying the weight of something long held back. "There was a time when our blood alone was enough to carry the strength of our ancestors. But time… and tradition, have taken their toll." Her eyes drifted back to him, sharp and piercing. "In the last generation, some of us saw this, saw that we needed to bring in fresh blood to restore our strength."

Jun's eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the implication. Bringing in new blood? It was almost unthinkable within the Zenin clan.

"You… you mean… outsiders?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "Some of us fought to integrate outsiders. Not just for their cursed techniques but for the strength they carried in their blood—untouched by years of selective breeding and the pride that blinds too many in our society. I wanted them to be a part of our families, to build a stronger foundation, but…" She paused, a hint of bitterness slipping through. "The politics were beyond me. Others with louder voices and more 'refined' sensibilities saw my intentions as a threat to tradition."

Jun watched her carefully, piecing together the implications of her words. "But… there are outsiders in the clans now. Even Anāman…"

His grandmother nodded slowly. "Yes, but not in the way I'd hoped. They were not given true kinship. Instead, they were scattered, used as tools, pushed into the outer reaches where the curses grow more feral." She tilted her head, studying Jun's reaction. "Our clan members are protected, sent only to places where the spoils are guaranteed and risks are minimal. The outer rim, though… that is where we send the expendable. Those of lesser blood."

The words struck him, heavy and unfiltered. He felt the depth of her disappointment—not just in the clan's decision but in what it symbolized.

"Anāman… he's one of them, isn't he?" he asked, the realization dawning on him.

"Most likely," she replied, her tone colder now. "He's been hardened by real combat, by experiences that you, raised in the security of the clan's embrace, can barely imagine. That boy may stand here now, but his fate is written in blood." She paused, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "No matter how strong he is, he will not survive past twenty-five. Not out there."

Jun's heart sank, the revelation settling heavily in his chest. He tried to grasp what she had just said. Anāman's strength, his resilience—it was all born from survival. And survival, she seemed to suggest, came with an expiration date for those cast out to fend for themselves.

He looked at her, wanting to ask more, to understand how she could accept this so coldly, but before he could open his mouth, she turned, a finality in her movements.

"Remember, Jun," she said, her voice a ghost in the dim corridor, "strength and tradition are not always the same. We created this fate for those like him."

Jun watched his grandmother disappear down the dim hallway, her words echoing in his mind, settling over him like a weight he didn't know how to lift. For a moment, he stood alone, coffee forgotten, his grip tight around the cup as if the warmth might ground him. But her revelations lingered, unfolding inside him with a strange clarity that made him shiver.

He had always known the Zenin clan was strict, even ruthless, in its standards, yet he'd never imagined that anyone in their ranks would suggest diluting their blood. The idea of outsiders merging with clan blood felt almost taboo, a challenge to everything the clan held as sacred truth. And yet… the logic was undeniable, as sharp as the winter air. The strength of the clans, once a proud claim, had grown stale, and beneath that pride lay a hollow decay. Her words had exposed the cracks in the foundation of everything Jun had been taught to value.

And then there was Anāman. The thought of him drifted to the forefront of Jun's mind, a complex image made all the sharper by what his grandmother had revealed.

No matter his strength… he'll be dead before he reaches twenty-five, his grandmother had said, her tone heavy with resignation. Those words struck a note of despair Jun hadn't expected, a revelation that even the mightiest were not immune to the consequences of their lives. His own fears—of disappointing the clan, of failing to live up to their expectations—paled in comparison to what Anāman had likely faced out there, fighting curses in isolation, far from the protection of the family's name.

The corridors felt emptier as he walked back to his room, each step heavy with the knowledge he had gained. He could almost see Anāman, standing alone in some desolate field in the outer rim, his eyes sharp, posture unwavering, yet carrying that flicker of fear Jun had glimpsed during their encounter with Anāman's old instructor. That fear had been real, a response honed by experiences Jun could only imagine—enough to make anyone question their own strength. But what had stood out even more was how quickly Anāman had transformed it, turning that fear into defiance, wielding it like a weapon rather than a weakness.

Jun's thoughts spun as he considered this. Anāman's experience made him something else entirely—a person who knew both fear and survival, and perhaps, for that reason, respected power without becoming consumed by it. He seemed to understand something about himself that Jun was only beginning to grasp. How did someone live like that, knowing every day might be their last?

By the time he reached his room, Jun's mind was buzzing with questions, each one laced with the strange feeling that his path had irrevocably shifted. He felt the world open up before him, larger, more intimidating, and undeniably real. He was no longer just a child in the Zenin clan. He was beginning to see himself as a part of something far greater, something shaped by those who fought not only to survive but to reclaim what power they could, even if it was at the cost of their lives. And in that realization, he could almost feel the eyes of his grandmother and Anāman upon him, each waiting to see which path he would take.

In the traditions of the Jujutsu Society, twins were seldom welcomed with open arms. They bore the weight of a shared fate, an anomaly that disturbed the delicate order of singularity so deeply revered. Where one spirit was meant to rise, two tangled souls could disrupt the balance. They were seen as one—one essence split in two, destined to drag each other down in a world that demanded strength in solitude. Together, they could rise. But together, they could also fall, each step heavier under the weight of the other.

Jun stood alone in the center of the vast hall, surrounded by the silent, judging faces of the Zenin elders. The cold light filtering through the narrow windows cast harsh shadows, sharpening the lines on his face as he held his head high, his gaze fixed forward. His heart pounded, but his voice remained steady as he delivered his request.

"I want to be assigned to the outer rim," he said, his tone unwavering.

A ripple of disbelief ran through the assembled elders, their eyes narrowing, murmurs rising in low tones. His father sat among them, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that hinted at amusement rather than pride. He crossed his arms, regarding his son with a detached curiosity, as though he were nothing more than a passing nuisance.

One elder finally spoke up, his voice laced with a barely concealed disdain. "The outer rim, you say? A curious request. Are you aware of what that entails, boy?"

"Yes," Jun replied, meeting the elder's gaze without flinching. "I want the real experience. I want to face what's out there."

His father's mouth twisted, but there was no warmth, no sign of approval. If anything, he seemed almost entertained. "So, the boy wants to prove himself," he said with a sneer, his words cutting through the silence. "You want to be rid of the safety these walls offer, do you? Fine. Go prove yourself. We won't stop you."

Another elder nodded, waving a hand dismissively as though this request was hardly worth their time. "Very well, your request is granted. You leave at dawn."

Jun inclined his head, accepting their decision with a calm resolve. His gaze shifted momentarily to Mei, who stood off to the side, her face a mask of shock and disbelief. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but the words seemed to stick, her eyes searching his for some explanation he couldn't offer here.

As he turned to leave, he noticed his mother standing in the doorway, watching him with that same empty expression she always held. There was no pride in her gaze, no warmth—only a distant, smoldering resentment that had cast a shadow over him his entire life. She made no move to approach, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes staring somewhere just beyond him.

Jun swallowed, the weight of her indifference heavier than any curse. Still, he forced himself to meet her gaze, searching for something—anything—that would tell him he mattered to her, even a little. "Goodbye, Mom," he murmured, the words laced with a hope he couldn't quite bury.

She didn't blink, didn't soften. Her gaze was cold, as though she were merely observing a stranger. "You are no child of mine," she replied, her voice flat and emotionless, as if she were stating a simple, irrevocable fact.

The words struck like a blow, the finality in them leaving him momentarily breathless. He stared at her, but her expression didn't change, her eyes already drifting away from him, as if he were no longer worth the effort.

A hollow silence filled the room as she turned and walked away, her back to him without a second glance. Jun clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand tall, the sting of her rejection settling deep within him like a cold ache he would carry long after he left this place.

As he crossed the compound toward the outer gates, Mei caught up to him, her face flushed with anger and desperation. She grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face her, her voice a mixture of fury and heartbreak. "What are you doing?" she demanded, her fingers digging into his sleeve. "Why are you doing this, Jun? This isn't… this isn't a game. You could get killed out there."

Jun gently pulled his arm free, meeting her gaze with a firm, unyielding expression. "Mei, I need this. I need to get stronger. Real strength isn't something I can find here, hiding behind these walls, going through the same motions day after day."

"You think running off to the outer rim is going to make you stronger?" she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness. "You think throwing yourself into danger is the answer? This isn't just about you, Jun! You're my brother—you're all I have!"

Her words wavered, the fear and hurt bleeding through her anger. Jun's face softened, but he shook his head, his resolve unwavering. "I'm not doing this to leave you behind, Mei. I'm doing this so I can become someone worth protecting you, worth protecting both of us."

Her fingers clenched, trembling as she tried to keep her composure, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "So you're just going to abandon me here?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Leave me alone with… them? Leave me to deal with all this on my own?"

"It's not abandonment," he said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder, though she pulled away, shaking her head. "I don't want to lose you, Mei. But if I stay here, I'll never be more than what they want me to be. And neither will you."

She laughed, but the sound was hollow, filled with bitterness. "You think you're so much better than this? That going to the outer rim is going to turn you into some kind of hero?"

Jun's jaw tightened, his gaze steady. "I don't care about being a hero. I just want to be free from this… from them. And if that means I have to go to the outer rim, face whatever's out there, then that's what I'll do."

Mei shook her head, her face hardening as she forced herself to stand taller, masking her pain with a forced sneer. "Fine. Go. Run off to the outer rim if it makes you feel better about yourself. But don't expect me to be here waiting for you to come back in one piece."

Jun's gaze softened, the ache in his chest deepening as he looked at her, his heart heavy with the weight of their parting. "I never wanted to leave you behind, Mei. But sometimes, to find yourself, you have to walk away from what's familiar."

She stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed off, her footsteps echoing down the path, each step carrying her further away from him.

Jun watched her go, his hands clenched at his sides, the urge to call her back twisting inside him like a knife. But he stayed silent, swallowing the words that lingered on his tongue, knowing that nothing he could say would change the path he had chosen.

He turned back toward the road leading away from the compound, the weight of his decision settling over him as he took his first steps into the unknown. This was his path now, a journey he would face alone, for better or for worse. And though it would take him far from everything he'd known, he knew that somewhere beyond the horizon lay the answers he had been searching for.

In the months that followed, Jun's journey through the outer rim hardened him in ways he hadn't expected, the harsh realities of life there carving themselves into him with relentless precision. Each battle was grueling, each fight chipping away at the ideals he'd held onto, filling the cracks with a dull, unyielding exhaustion.

In one fight, he clashed with a cursed spirit larger than any he'd faced before, its many limbs flailing wildly in the thick fog that hung over the desolate landscape. He barely had time to react, dodging to the side as a claw raked through the air where he'd stood. His movements were sharp, controlled, each strike landing with brutal force. But the moment it was over, he'd simply be handed his next mission, another name, another location—no recognition, no respite.

In the villages and settlements scattered across the outer rim, he saw more of the lives he'd been assigned to protect. Families huddled together in makeshift shelters, their faces gaunt and hollow, the constant threat of curses hanging over them like a cloud. The people here were different—harder, worn down by years of living under constant fear. Their eyes flicked over him with a mix of wariness and resentment, an outsider in their midst, his clan name meaningless in a place that had little need for pride or prestige. Their lives seemed devoid of hope, driven by the harsh necessity of survival rather than the ideals he'd once clung to.

And the sorcerers assigned to the outer rim? They were mercenaries, cold and detached, their gazes blank as they extorted coin for exorcisms with little regard for the lives at stake. More than once, he overheard their conversations, talk of lucrative contracts in safer areas, the disdainful chuckles as they spoke about the villagers they'd saved—people to whom their services were merely transactional, obligations that they'd fulfill for the right price. The sense of duty he'd once believed to be inherent to a sorcerer seemed all but absent here, the ideals of the clans eroded by greed and indifference.

He tried to speak to one sorcerer after a particularly brutal fight, asking him about the principles they were sworn to uphold, about the purpose behind their duty. The sorcerer only laughed, his gaze as hollow as the desolate landscape around them.

"Principles? Out here? You're green if you think ideals mean anything this far out. Out here, we survive. Nothing more," the sorcerer had scoffed, turning away without another word, leaving Jun to stand there, his hands clenched at his sides.

Each encounter left him with a heavier heart, a creeping sense of doubt beginning to burrow into his mind. He'd come here to grow stronger, to find a purpose beyond the walls of the Zenin compound, but now he found himself wondering if there was any purpose at all. He was seeing strength in its rawest form, stripped of the honor and pride his clan spoke of—strength that was selfish, that cared nothing for the people it affected.

One night, he found himself sitting alone under the dim glow of a fire, his arm resting across his knees, the flickering light casting shadows over his face. The exhaustion weighed on him, deeper than any physical fatigue, a weariness that gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

"Is this what it's all for?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, lost in the darkness around him. The memory of his sister, her determined smile, her defiance in the face of their family's scorn, drifted to the forefront of his mind. She'd have told him to keep fighting, to prove them all wrong. But here, in this wasteland where duty meant nothing and survival was all that mattered, her voice felt distant, almost unreal.

The days dragged on, each fight blurring into the next, his purpose slipping away with each cursed spirit he exorcised. He was losing himself, his vision clouded by the brutality he saw around him, by the indifference of the sorcerers who walked beside him. It was all he could do to keep going, the fire in him flickering, weaker with each passing day.

And yet, he continued, even as his doubts grew louder, even as the light within him dimmed. The ideals he'd held to so fiercely back home felt like fragile things here, easily crushed under the weight of reality. And as he looked out over the desolate landscape of the outer rim, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever really existed at all.

The safehouse was dim, its narrow hallways filled with the muffled sounds of snoring sorcerers and the distant rustle of shifting bodies. Jun lay on a thin cot, staring up at the ceiling, sleep evading him as restlessly as his own thoughts. His mind was a mess of doubt and fatigue, the harshness of the outer rim etched deep into his mind. He exhaled, giving up on rest. Quietly, he slipped out of bed, grabbed his pack of cigarettes, and made his way up to the roof, hoping the chill air might clear his head.

Once on the roof, he lit a cigarette, coughing as the smoke hit his lungs. He'd only started recently, but the habit had become something to anchor him, a small rebellion against his own weariness. The night was cold, faint lights in the ever distant ceiling of the outer rim scattered across it like distant embers, their glow faint. He took another drag, letting the silence settle over him.

Movement on the ground below caught his eye, and he tensed. Someone was approaching the safehouse, their figure moving with ease through the wards and barriers like they weren't even there. Heart pounding, Jun flicked the cigarette away and moved to the edge of the roof, ready to intercept—until he saw the stranger's face.

Anāman.

The two of them locked eyes in the dim light, and Jun's shock softened into something warmer, unexpected—a fleeting sense of familiarity. Anāman just grinned, hoisting up a bag he carried over his shoulder and giving it a playful shake. He climbed up to the roof without a word, settling beside Jun and pulling out an assortment of snacks, along with a bottle of vodka. He handed over a pack of chips and twisted the cap off the bottle, taking a long swig before passing it to Jun.

They ate and drank in silence, the distant sounds of the outer rim falling away as the vodka warmed Jun's throat and the quiet presence of Anāman took the edge off his loneliness. Finally, after a while, Jun looked over, unable to hold the question back any longer.

"What makes you keep fighting?" he asked, his voice low but steady.

Anāman's usual mischievous expression softened, and he smirked, "For the love of the game," he joked, a glint of humor in his eyes. But he could see Jun was serious, so he leaned back, his gaze drifting to the horizon as his face took on a rare, earnest expression. "Honestly? Helping people just feels good. That's all there is to it. I don't need another reason."

Jun stared at him, processing the simplicity of his answer. Anāman fought because it felt right, because it mattered to him in a way that didn't need justifying. Jun took another drink, his voice quieter as he spoke again. "How do you…deal with all the fear? The death? How do you stay… sane? How do you handle it so well"

Anāman paused, his face unreadable. "Who says I handle it well?" His tone was flat, and Jun almost laughed, thinking it was another joke—until he saw the seriousness in Anāman's eyes, a depth of weariness that mirrored his own. Anāman didn't dwell on it, though, and instead reached for another cigarette, lighting it as the silence stretched between them.

Jun took a drag of his own, studying the quiet determination in Anāman's face. Here was a sorcerer who faced the same horrors he did, the same relentless fear, yet still held onto something pure, unbroken. Jun wondered if he'd ever find that within himself, or if he'd let this place hollow him out entirely. They smoked together, letting the quiet settle over them as if it could keep the weight of the world at bay, just for a moment.

After a while, Jun looked over, the vodka easing the edge off his words. "Next time, drinks are on me. I'll get us something proper. Sake, maybe."

Anāman scoffed, shaking his head. "Sake tastes like shit."

Three years had passed since Jun had left the Zenin compound. The world beyond had reshaped him, molded him in ways he hadn't expected, ways that left marks deeper than the scars on his skin. His eyes, once bright with determination, now held a tired but unyielding focus. Yet, as he approached the familiar walls of the Zenin estate, he carried himself with a quiet dignity. There was no grand purpose in his return, but there was a clarity, a resolve: to become strong enough that he and his sister could live the life they deserved.

The gates loomed ahead, and for a moment, a pang of doubt crept into his heart. But it was brief, overshadowed by a sense of calm he had worked hard to cultivate. As he stepped through the threshold, he noticed a figure walking toward him from the courtyard, her form silhouetted against the morning light.

It was Mei.

She walked with a new confidence, her steps firm and unhesitating, but as she neared, her gaze softened, and her pace slowed. Her physique had changed dramatically in his absence, her body honed, muscular, each step a testament to the time and effort she had poured into her training. She looked powerful in a way he hadn't seen before, not just physically but in the quiet, unwavering way she carried herself.

Neither of them spoke at first. They simply stood there, taking each other in, both aware of the years and experiences that had passed between them without words to fill the space.

Finally, Mei moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that was both fierce and tender. The roughness of her grip, the warmth of her arms—it grounded him, settled the last of his doubts. She didn't need to say it, but he could feel it, the pride she had in his return, the unspoken bond between them.

"Welcome home," she murmured, her voice soft but filled with a depth he hadn't heard before.

Jun felt a weight lift from him, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting himself feel that simple sense of belonging, the quiet joy of returning to someone who truly understood.

In the closed traditions of Jujutsu Society, twins were seen as a single soul split across two bodies, a concept met with suspicion. Even if they were content to exist as two halves of one whole, others rarely accepted it. Power, after all, had a way of blinding others to the subtleties of their bond.

Over the next month, Jun and Mei gradually found their rhythm again, falling into a familiar yet changed companionship. They spent hours together, exchanging stories of their past battles and the challenges they had faced while apart, each filling in the blanks left by years of separation.

Mei, who had become a Grade One sorcerer over a year ago, was treated with a newfound respect by the Zenin clan. Her formidable skills and unapologetic attitude had earned her both admiration and fear from the other sorcerers. Yet she was still Mei—bold, sharp-tongued, and always with a hint of defiance in her gaze. Some of the elders regarded her with a begrudging respect now, but she knew, as Jun did, that their acceptance came with unspoken conditions, lingering doubts.

One evening, they found themselves on a quiet terrace overlooking the training grounds. The lanterns cast a soft glow, illuminating their faces as they sat side by side. Mei leaned back, stretching her arms, a confident smile on her lips as she gazed at the stars.

"It's been strange, you know," Jun began, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Seeing how everyone looks at you now, like you've always belonged here. I never doubted it, but… it's good to see it, to see them finally recognize it."

Mei shrugged, though a proud smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "They don't really respect me, not in the way they respect the others. They're just scared I'll be more trouble if they keep treating me like they used to." She scoffed, though the edge of bitterness was gone. "It's easier to pretend I'm one of them now that I have the title. But titles don't mean everything. Not to me, not anymore."

Jun nodded, absorbing her words. He was still striving for that recognition, that elusive Grade One title. The elders had noted his progress, his discipline, and the confidence he'd brought back from the outer rim, but he knew he hadn't proven himself yet—not by their standards. Yet being here, beside his sister, reminded him of why he was on this path.

"They might promote me someday," he mused, half to himself. "But… I'm not sure it matters as much as I thought it did. Not if it means bending to fit into their mold." He glanced at Mei, his voice growing steadier. "I think… being strong enough to protect us, to make sure we can live as we choose—that's what matters to me now. I want us both to have that freedom."

Mei's expression softened as she looked at him, her usual sharpness replaced with a warmth she rarely showed. She reached over and ruffled his hair, a playful glint in her eyes. "Look at you, finally sounding like someone I can be proud of." She smirked, but it was genuine, without the teasing edge. "But seriously, Jun… you've come a long way. Whether they see it or not, I do."

Jun managed a smile, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thanks, Mei. I'm glad I have you on this path with me."

They sat in companionable silence, both absorbing the quiet understanding that had always been there between them, even when the world seemed determined to separate them. They knew there would always be those who feared their bond, who would never understand the strength that came from being two halves of the same whole.

But it didn't matter. They had each other—two parts of a shared destiny, each walking their own path but forever intertwined, carrying forward with the strength they'd forged alone and together.

The air was thick with incense and formality as Jun and Mei's grandmother was laid to rest in the Zenin compound's small, secluded family cemetery. It was a quiet affair, attended by only the immediate family and the most senior members of the clan. The funeral rites were solemn, a ritual steeped in tradition and the kind of reverence that carried weight only to those with a stake in the clan's carefully crafted legacy.

Ryo stood among the elders, his face an impassive mask, though his eyes held a flicker of something darker. As the rites concluded and the attendants drifted away, he stayed with a few of the clan's senior members, their heads close in hushed conversation.

"It's a relief, truly," one elder murmured, glancing back at the freshly covered grave. "She held too much sway. If she'd kept her way, we'd be a clan filled with strangers instead of strength."

Another nodded. "Her ideals of bringing in new blood and outsiders—it would have diluted everything. This clan was built on tradition, on the strength of our lineage. Now, with her gone, we can finally act."

Ryo's mouth tightened, a faint scowl pulling at his lips. "Yes. A shame she couldn't see reason. And now… we have an image to uphold. A front to restore." He looked off toward the compound, where the echoes of their ancestor's decisions and sacrifices reverberated in every stone and shadow. "We've been weak for too long, letting her drag the Zenin name down with these absurd notions."

"With her gone," Ryo began quietly, his tone steely, "the path is clear to proceed with the plan. This isn't just about restoring the clan's prestige; it's about enforcing our legacy. We need to project strength, authority—pride."

The elder beside him nodded, his voice low, tinged with a conspiratorial satisfaction. "Precisely. The girl will make a fitting heir, embodying the pride of the Zenin name… though, it's a shame about the choice." He shook his head slightly. "A daughter to uphold the Zenin strength—unusual, but the alternatives…" He trailed off, glancing at the dossier in Ryo's hands.

Ryo followed his gaze, lips curling in faint disdain as he looked down at the familiar face in the dossier. Jun's image stared back at him, a stamp across the page reading eliminate. "There's no place for weakness," Ryo continued. "To secure the girl's loyalty, to bind her strength to us, we have to remove her twin. They are two halves of the same existence—when one falls, the other rises."

Another elder, who had been listening closely, chimed in with a cold chuckle. "The bond of twins... yes, they draw power from one another. By eliminating him, we'll force a surge in her cursed energy, channeling all of it into a single vessel."

Ryo's face hardened as he slipped the dossier back into his coat. "Exactly. His death will strengthen her—she will feel the loss, understand the necessity of loyalty, and recognize that our power is her only family. This, after all, is for the Zenin pride."

The elder beside him smirked. "You think she'll suspect?"

"Not a chance," Ryo replied dismissively. "Intelligence is not her strength. She's fierce, but she won't question the power she gains from his death. In her mind, it will be fate, a shift to further her destiny with the clan. That way, her loyalty to us will deepen along with her strength."

The gathered elders nodded, satisfaction settling in the air between them. The woman buried at their feet had, in her final days, stood in the way of this decision, shielding her grandchildren from the clan's plans. But with her death, the path was clear, the clan's future purified of distraction and softened family ties.

They lingered in silence a moment longer, casting one last glance at the grave behind them. It was all for the clan. With the boy gone, Mei would become a weapon—one crafted from loss, sharpened by tradition, and bound unknowingly to their ambition. The Zenin legacy would stand stronger, unified and unchallenged.

In the quiet of the night, Jun lay sleeping in his quarters, the faint hum of the compound's surroundings settling into an uneasy silence. Outside his door, shadowed figures moved with careful, trained steps, their breaths barely audible, blending seamlessly with the darkness. One assassin crept forward, his eyes fixed on Jun's still form, and in one fluid motion, he plunged his dagger deep into the figure's chest.

Satisfied, he turned to make his exit, but the faintest sound stopped him. There, standing by the door, was Jun—very much alive. As his stunned gaze flicked back to the bed, the assassin realized the figure he had stabbed was another figure entirely, a different assassin who had been assigned to keep overwatch. Before he could react, Jun's fist shot forward, colliding with his jaw and sending him crashing through the window into the night air.

Jun moved with newfound awareness, his eyes sharp, his body braced. He had learned to feel the currents of cursed energy flowing around him, honing his senses to anticipate attacks even before they fully formed. His sensitivity allowed him to sidestep attacks and evade strikes with uncanny precision, as though the energy itself whispered to him.

Before he could catch his breath, more assassins poured into the room, surrounding him in a tight circle. Jun felt the familiar thrum of cursed energy emanating from each one. As one lunged at him, Jun dodged, his hand brushing the attacker's arm briefly. He closed his eyes for an instant, feeling the cursed energy pulse from his opponent, allowing him to siphon it just enough to disrupt the attacker's strength.

He twisted, using the stolen energy to amplify his own movements. Another assassin lunged at him from the side, and Jun countered by ducking low, sweeping his leg to trip the attacker. With a sharp elbow jab, he sent the assailant sprawling across the floor.

As they regrouped, Jun sensed their hesitation, a flicker of caution that he intended to exploit. He fought with ruthless efficiency, using any tactic available. His foot lashed out, kicking dirt from a broken vase into one assassin's eyes, blinding him just long enough for Jun to land a devastating punch. He felt another presence behind him and dropped low, grabbing a nearby chair and smashing it backward to shatter his attacker's knee.

Despite his skill and grit, they were relentless, coordinating in groups, trying to corner him. He blocked and dodged, but fatigue was seeping into his muscles. Suddenly, one of them slipped behind him, blade raised and poised to drive it into his back.

Jun's senses screamed, the cursed energy flaring behind him. He had only a split second to act.

Just as the blade was about to sink into Jun's back, the ground beneath his attackers suddenly crumbled and the walls of the room collapsed, disintegrating into dust as violent waves of cursed energy pulsed outward, spreading from a figure standing defiantly at the edge of the courtyard. In the clearing dust and debris, Mei stood, her hands outstretched, energy swirling around her in controlled, devastating pulses. The waves surged in opposite directions, tearing apart the ground under Jun's would-be killers but canceling each other out as they reached Jun, leaving him untouched and safe within a narrow circle of calm amid the chaos.

She smirked as the assassins stumbled back, momentarily thrown off balance by the unexpected display of raw power. Mei's voice cut through the silence, cold and mocking. "Did you really think I wouldn't see it coming? That I wouldn't notice you stalking my brother?" She took a step forward, her gaze sharp as knives, eyes flicking over the stunned assassins with seething disdain. "Or maybe you thought I was too naive to see how our own clan would try to take us down? How foolish could you be?"

Jun, still catching his breath, looked over at his sister, a surge of both relief and shock passing through him. Mei had been watching over him all along, anticipating their family's betrayal. But her eyes didn't meet his; instead, they stayed locked on the assassins, fierce and unyielding. He could see the hurt in her expression, beneath the fury—a quiet, simmering resentment at the realization that their family, their blood, would stoop this low.

The assassins exchanged uneasy glances, but their leader, sneering, stepped forward. "So you figured it out," he spat. "Doesn't matter. Orders are orders. The clan has decided to keep only one of you around. It's nothing personal."

Mei laughed, the sound hollow, bitter. "Nothing personal?" she echoed, her voice sharp with disbelief. "All those years of training, of fighting for them—and for what? To be cast aside? To be hunted down by our own blood?" Her fists clenched, the cursed energy around her crackling with raw intensity.

Jun felt a twist in his chest as he watched her, anger simmering under his own skin. But he knew now wasn't the time for questions. They had to survive first. Nodding, he positioned himself beside Mei, meeting her gaze briefly. It was a look of understanding, of shared betrayal. Together, they would fight for each other—no one else.

Without warning, Mei unleashed another wave of cursed energy, the ground splintering under the impact as she struck. Jun charged forward, using the opening she'd created to slam his fist into one of the assassins, siphoning the man's cursed energy to bolster his own strength. The two of them fought back-to-back, seamlessly weaving their attacks, an uncanny familiarity guiding their movements. Mei's technique disoriented the assassins, while Jun's enhanced reflexes and experience in the Outer Rim allowed him to exploit every opening, every flaw in their opponents' attacks.

But as they fought, more assassins poured in, surrounding them, closing the circle tighter. Jun felt his energy waning, his movements slowing, and Mei's cursed energy pulses became more erratic, leaving dangerous gaps in their defense. He glanced over his shoulder at her, worry gnawing at him as he saw her wavering.

Just as he landed a blow on one of the assassins, another one slipped through, lunging toward Mei from behind. "Mei, look out!" Jun shouted, but she was already aware, her energy pulsing in time to disrupt the strike. But they both knew they couldn't keep this up much longer. The sheer number of assassins was overwhelming them, and they were out of options.

A momentary pause settled over the courtyard as the last of the assassins regrouped, preparing for a final assault. Mei's breathing was labored, her face slick with sweat. She shot a fierce look at Jun, determination in her eyes. "We'll survive this, Jun. Together. We're not going to let them win."

Before they could act, however, one of the fallen assassins stirred, a dangerous glint in his eye as he channeled the last of his energy into a desperate final strike. Mei noticed his movement first, her gaze snapping to the assassin, understanding dawning in her eyes as she realized what he intended. The air grew thick with a charged silence, the threat of imminent danger crackling like static.

"Run!" she shouted, throwing herself between Jun and the incoming surge of energy. Before he could react, an explosion ripped through the courtyard, a flash of blinding light and searing heat. The force of it hurled him back, slamming him into the ground, and then—darkness.

Jun woke up days later in a dimly lit room, the sterile scent of a makeshift infirmary filling his senses. Disoriented and weak, he tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his body, forcing him back onto the bed. Fragments of memory flashed through his mind—the blinding explosion, Mei's voice shouting, her silhouette framed by the violent light, and then… nothing.

A doctor at his bedside noticed his stirring and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her expression somber. "You're awake," she said softly, her tone filled with cautious sympathy. "You were lucky to survive."

Jun's heart sank, dread pooling in his stomach. His mind raced with questions, each one filled with a gnawing sense of fear, but he forced himself to ask the one that mattered most. "My sister… Mei… where is she?"

The doctor's face fell, her gaze lowering as she shook her head. "I'm so sorry," she murmured. "Your sister didn't make it. She… she protected you until the end."

The words hit him like a physical blow, the weight of them sinking deep into his chest, suffocating him. He stared blankly at the doctor, his mind refusing to process the meaning behind her words. Mei, his twin, his other half—gone. The realization tore through him, raw and unforgiving, as the weight of her sacrifice crushed him.

He lay back against the bed, numb, hollow, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the ceiling. She had known. Mei had seen the betrayal coming, had understood the risks, and she had given everything to protect him. His chest ached, grief mingling with a rage so fierce it left him trembling. His sister, the one person who had always stood by him, had been taken from him by their own family, by the very people who should have protected them both.

Jun lay there, his body heavy with pain, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache settling deep within his chest. The doctor had left him alone with the quiet hum of medical equipment, the sterile scent of antiseptic, and the raw emptiness Mei's absence left behind.

A slow, familiar rhythm of footsteps echoed down the hallway, interrupting his dark reverie. Jun didn't need to look up to know who it was; his father's presence was unmistakable, a weight pressing down on the room before he even stepped inside. When Zenin Ryo entered, he surveyed the room with a quick, calculated glance before his gaze settled on Jun, his expression a strange mix of pride and indifference, as if surveying a prized horse after a hard race.

"Well, look at you," Ryo began, his voice smooth and self-satisfied. "Surviving an attack like that—clearly, you're stronger than they anticipated." He took a few steps closer, hands clasped behind his back as he continued in a low, almost smug tone, "Not that it wasn't expected. You have the blood of the Zenin clan, after all. Such strength and resilience can't be taken down so easily, no matter who tries."

Jun's gaze stayed fixed on the wall, his face void of expression. Every word grated on his nerves, twisting the knife of grief and betrayal even deeper. His father's attempt at sounding paternal only heightened the burning disgust in his chest.

Ryo didn't seem to notice or care about Jun's silence; he was already busy crafting a new narrative. "We have our suspicions about the attackers. They're likely from one of those rogue factions outside the clan," he continued with a feigned air of concern, as if he were presenting some carefully rehearsed lie. "They must've felt threatened by the Zenin name and sought to weaken us by striking at my children." He clicked his tongue in mock disdain, his gaze narrowing as he affected an expression of righteous anger. "But they miscalculated—attacking someone as strong as you… a fatal mistake on their part."

Jun's hands curled into fists under the blanket, his knuckles white. The rage simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to remain still, his face unreadable. He knew the truth. The truth that his father, his clan, were the ones who orchestrated the attack. The man standing before him, masquerading as a proud and caring father, had ordered his own children's death.

Ryo's eyes swept over his son's silent form, evidently satisfied by the lack of protest. His mouth twisted into a smirk, a self-satisfied gleam lighting his eyes as he straightened, pleased by his own theatrics. "I know you'll recover quickly, Jun. We'll make sure our enemies regret ever thinking they could weaken the Zenin bloodline," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You'll rise stronger, and your sister's… unfortunate sacrifice will not be in vain." His voice turned almost dismissive at the mention of Mei, as if her life had been a minor inconvenience rather than a tragic loss.

Jun finally turned his gaze to his father, his expression icy and unyielding, his eyes burning with quiet, controlled fury. He didn't say a word—he didn't need to. The silence between them grew thick, the cold disdain in Jun's eyes speaking louder than any words ever could.

Ryo either didn't notice or chose to ignore the silent accusation in his son's gaze. Instead, he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, his chest swelling with pride at the apparent obedience his son displayed. "Good," he said, nodding approvingly as if Jun's silence was an affirmation of loyalty rather than the disgust it truly was. "The Zenin bloodline will stand strong, no matter what."

He turned on his heel, walking out of the room with the same confident stride, a picture of arrogant satisfaction. As the door clicked shut behind him, Jun's fists tightened further, his nails digging into his palms, leaving red half-moon marks on his skin. The room felt colder, emptier in the silence that followed, and the hollow ache Mei had left behind grew sharper, harder.

His father's satisfaction was like poison, curdling in his veins. He had betrayed them, he had orchestrated Mei's death, and now he walked away with the satisfaction of a job well done, blind to the simmering rage and the oath of vengeance taking root in his son's heart.

The incense smoke drifted lazily through the grand hall of the Gojo Clan's headquarters, carrying with it a faint bitterness that clung to the walls like the ghosts of past decisions. Shadows stretched long and sharp across the marble floor, bisected by thin beams of cold light that slipped through the high windows. Takumi stood rigid, his face a mask of unreadable calm as he finished his report.

"…The explosion was caused by a gas pipe rupture in the warehouse during the fight with the curse," he said, his voice devoid of inflection. "Anāman was unable to escape in time."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the faint creak of an elder shifting in his seat. Their eyes were cold, indifferent, like judges weighing the worth of a pawn. One elder leaned forward, his face etched with both age and disdain, his gaze like a dagger.

"A tragic end for such a promising young sorcerer," he murmured, dripping with insincerity. "But that is the risk of trusting outsiders. Perhaps if we had kept a tighter leash on such a wild mutt, he'd still be alive."

A few of the elders shared thin smiles, their quiet, mirthless chuckles echoing off the cold stone walls. Takumi's jaw tightened ever so slightly, a flicker of tension under his calm exterior, but he lowered his head, bowing in submission as the elder gave a dismissive wave.

"You're excused, Takumi," the elder said with a faint smirk. "We'll consider the matter closed."

Takumi bowed deeply, his steps precise and measured as he exited the hall. The phrase "matter closed" clung to him, a bitter reminder of how Anāman's life was weighed, found lacking, and cast aside like so much dust. But as he walked down the long, dim corridor, he caught sight of a figure waiting at the far end—a young man with piercing, furious eyes, his blond hair catching the faint light. Their gazes locked, and for a brief moment, a flash of understanding passed between them.

Takumi continued without pause, his steps unhurried, his expression unchanging. But Jun felt something shift within him, a dark resolve settling deeper into his bones. His grandmother's words echoed in his mind, the grim prophecy she'd shared about Anāman. In a way, he realized now, she had been right. Anāman was no longer a part of their society—he had broken away, forsaken the chains that bound him to a place that treated him like dirt. But that didn't mean he was gone.

No, Jun didn't believe for a second that Anāman was dead. His grandmother had warned him that the boy would be dead before he reached twenty-five, and though he'd seen darkness swallow many, he now understood Anāman's fate was something entirely different. Anāman had made a choice—he had abandoned this decaying society, rejected its cruelty and rot, and forged his own path. And though he had left them all behind, Jun realized that Anāman's disappearance was a kind of silent condemnation of everything their world stood for.

And now Jun, in his bitterness, his rage, could feel something else seething beneath his grief—a hunger that twisted and sharpened with each passing thought. He thought of his sister, of the nights they had spent trying to prove themselves, clawing and scraping for the approval of men who only saw them as tools. He thought of her final moments, of the betrayal that had snatched her from him, and something in him hardened, reshaped by the pain.

They had taken everything from him, and he would not let it stand.

Anāman might have chosen to abandon the fight, but Jun would not. He could not let the Zenin rot fester, nor would he stand by as the other clans preyed on the innocent under the guise of honor and tradition. No, he would do what Anāman had not: he would cast down every last one of them. His fists clenched, and a glint of dark ambition flickered in his eyes, igniting a fire within him that burned with the intensity of pure vengeance.

Yes, he would bring them all down. The Zenin, the Kamo, the Gojo—all the ancient families and their so-called "honor" would crumble beneath his feet. He would destroy their legacy, dismantle their influence, and grind their very names into the dust. Only when he stood above them, when they lay broken at his feet, would he finally be satisfied.

And from the ashes, he would take control—not just of the Zenin, but of the entire Ark. He would forge a new world, one molded in his own image, one where he and Mei could have lived free from judgment and scorn. A world where no one would suffer as they had. He would build a place where strength meant more than lineage, where power served the people, and not the other way around.

But it would not be a world of mercy or compromise. He would not offer the weak or the corrupt the chance to redeem themselves. The suffering he had endured, that Mei had endured, demanded a price, and Jun would see it paid in full. He would rule with an iron grip, leaving no room for weakness, crushing all who dared to resist his vision.

And in this new world, Mei would be there with him, in spirit if not in body. Her memory would drive him, her death would be his strength, and her sacrifice would be vindicated in the blood of their enemies. They would build a world together, even if he had to conquer it alone.

His hand brushed against the sword at his side, his gaze hardening as he turned from the Gojo Clan's headquarters. He could feel the weight of his destiny pressing down on him, but it only fueled his resolve. He would not rest, he would not waver, and he would not be denied.

And as he walked away, the final image in his mind was that of Mei, her bright smile forever etched into his memory, a silent promise that he would make this world suffer until it deserved her.

He murmured her name under his breath, his voice a low, fierce vow. "This is for you, Mei. For everything they took from us. I will make them pay."

Twins, they said, were two halves bound to the same fate, always pulling each other down. But what they didn't understand was that twins could be more than a shared destiny—they could be the seed of something greater, a force that defied tradition. Together, they could either rise, their power intertwined, or become a catalyst, tearing apart the structures that sought to bind them. And in the end, if one fell, the other would carry that weight, turning shared grief into an unbreakable resolve, a singular will that no one could ever hope to control.